


I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

by nutmeag83



Series: Second Star to the Right [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Peter Pan Fusion, F/F, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Kidlock, M/M, Neverland, Teen Angst, Teenlock, but they're soulmates, sort of they're still fairly young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 13:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18334934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: John and Sherlock are happy being forever children in Neverland. At least they were until Sherlock tries his hand at growing up.





	I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea in my head from the moment I finished the previous story in this series, but had trouble getting it written. I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with the ending, but it's a series, so I can always add another story later. :)
> 
> Title comes from Death Cab for Cutie’s [song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDHY1D0tKRA).
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked, but I decently edited it ... who cares about grown-up things like grammar anyway? 
> 
> There is a brief discussion of period-typical homophobia, though seen through a child's eyes, so it's super vague. The period here being the late 1800s.
> 
> Enjoy!

It started with Harry. John should have seen it coming, should have recognized the signs. He’d been in school until he was eleven, just around the time that puppy love started circling the school yard. And he’d lived with Sherlock for who knew how long—the problem with marking time in Neverland was that no one aged and the seasons didn’t change—so he’d long grown accustomed to, and able to somewhat master, his best friend’s ability observe, to see the patterns and nuances that went over other people’s heads. And perhaps time’s relativity in Neverland was part of the problem. He still saw Harry as that ten-year-old girl she’d been for so long, that he didn’t notice signs he would have seen in a slightly older girl.

And then there was the fact that Harry’s chosen affection wasn’t what he expected.

“We don’t have to live by the rules we did in London, right?” she asked him one day as they lounged on the verandah up in the high branches of their tree house.

The day was hot and lazy. Sherlock was sulking in his laboratory over some failed experiment and the fact that the pirates had been boring lately. Greg and Molly were gathering food with a couple of the little ones, and the others had gone to visit the People—the ones who had always lived in Neverland.

“‘Course not. We don’t have any adults to tell us what to do or how to act. We run around like hooligans most of the time. As long as you’re kind and pull your weight, no one really cares. What makes you ask?” John studied his sister’s face, trying to discern her train of thought.

Harry shrugged. “Some stuff I remember hearing once or twice. I didn’t like it when I heard it, it was mean, and I just wanted to know if I had to believe such mean things.”

“What things?”

Another shrug. She looked out into the trees, attempting, and failing, nonchalance. “Like what happened to Oscar Wilde.”

It had been in the papers for months when the trials happened. Their parents had never addressed the issue at home—of course not, it was an unseemly topic, and they weren’t gossips—but there had been talk at school. Mostly the older children, but it trickled down to the younger ones too. Apparently even down to Harry’s age group.

Like Harry, John had thought most of the talk was mean-hearted. He didn’t know anything about lust or grownup love, but it seemed wrong to be taught to love everyone, but when two people who happened to be the same gender fell in love, it was a sin.

“What brought this on?”

Harry picked at a loose thread on her shirt. “Just thinkin’”

“Oh. Well. I don’t see why it’s wrong. It doesn’t hurt anyone, being in love with another person. Plus, there are those two men here who are like that—the Chief’s nephew I think. The People don’t see to have a problem with it.”

“And you don’t either?”

“I don’t think much about love, Harry, but no, it doesn’t bother me.” He paused, wondering if he should ask. He was starting to think on how (and where) Harry had been spending her time lately. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Harry curled up in a ball in her chair. “Lily,” she said softly. The Healer’s daughter. The two had been thick as thieves lately. Harry talked about her all the time, spent most of her free time with her.

“Oh. So you … _like_ her? Differently than you like Molly or Genevieve or Ann?”

She gave a shy, tentative smile and a nod. “Yeah. She’s the best.”

And that’s when John knew she was telling the truth. Harry was a chatterbox. She filled up every empty space with as many words as they allowed her. Her being reticent meant something.

“Alright then.” John went to stand in front of Harry. He opened his arms. “It’s all fine.”

With a watery sigh of relief, she launched herself into him, making a sound John wasn’t sure was a hiccup or a sob. “Thank you.”

“‘Course.”

It took a minute of standing there together for John to realize something else about his little sister. She was no longer little. They were now eye to eye, and he noticed she’d lost some of the baby fat in her face. He’d thought she was just looking leaner from all of her time spent running around the island. Not to mention sword training. But that wasn’t right. She looked … older. More mature.

He leaned back to study her face better. “Are you growing up?” The idea made his stomach plummet. She was his _little_ sister. They did everything together, and she had always looked up to him, but now it looked as if she was moving on without him. “Is this because of Lily?”

Harry sighed and looked away. “We can’t stay kids forever, John. And I’m not growing _up_ , just adding a few years.”

“It’s Neverland. We’re _supposed_ to stay kids forever!”

“Aren’t you tired of it? You’re learning more, but your body isn’t maturing with your mind.”

“This _is_ about Lily!”

She pulled away from him and walked over to the edge of the verandah, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked out into the trees. “I love it here. It’s the only home I’ve known apart from with Mum and Dad, and that was ages ago. I don’t want to grow old. I don’t want grown-up responsibilities. But. I want to be more than a _child_. I want to experience life. Love.”

Why did things need to change? The wonderful thing about Neverland is that everything stayed the same. The weather, the other inhabitants, the food. Lost Children were added from time to time, but there was still a status quo there. Sherlock was either stroppy or a ball of energy and questions, John kept him in line, and the others enjoyed the adventures. But now Harry wanted to change that. To change herself. To change what they were to each other. He’d no longer be her older brother. He might have been alive for longer than she had, but she would experience things he wouldn’t. She would see the world through different eyes.

Suddenly the anger surged within him. “Fine. Grow up. Go do boring grown-up things. I don’t care. But if you’re going to get older, you can’t live here anymore.”

“John?!?” She turned to him, eyes wide, mouth slack.

“This is your choice. If you stop growing up, you can stay. But if you keep aging, you’re no longer a Lost Child. You’re just a stupid adult.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, and a part of John hoped she would. He didn’t want to lose her. But then her eyes hardened, and she clenched her fists. “Fine. I’ll be gone by night.”

She brushed past him to go inside. He wanted to stop her. Tell her he didn’t mean it, that he was just upset, but he couldn’t get it out. This was her choice after all. If anyone was going to apologize, it would have to be her.

***

Despite the twenty or so children living in the tree house (which was more like a tree complex at this point and had been dubbed The Warren), it felt emptier with Harry gone. She had always been one of the most boisterous of the group, and quite the leader. People just naturally fell in with her madcap schemes, much like they did with Sherlock. At least John still had his best friend. There was no way Sherlock would ever grow up. He loved adventure too much.

In fact, he seemed to be just as bothered by Harry’s changes as John was. He watched her closely any time they went to visit the People, where she had taken up residence with Lily’s family. John refused to talk to her still, and Sherlock stood by him in that respect. But he watched her. Very closely.

Too closely, John came to realize some time later. John would turn to say something to his friend, only to find him looking at his sister instead. Then he had the awful thought. What if Sherlock wanted to grow up too? He watched Harry constantly. Was he curious about her motives, did he wanted to mature as well, or did he have _feelings_ for her himself? As much as the second thought hurt, it was the last that scared John the most. They were supposed to stay together forever. It was one of the main reasons John came to Neverland in the first place. Had he come all this way only to be abandoned, first by his sister, then by his best friend?

He tried to push the thoughts away, but they returned over and over, keeping him up at night. When he noticed Sherlock getting taller, he forced himself to say something. He couldn’t live with his stomach in knots, just waiting for Sherlock to leave him.

“You’re growing up.”

Sherlock startled from his work bench, turning to face John, face flushed with a hint of pink.

“Just a year or two.”

“Why?”

“Experiment.”

“Why?”

“To learn new things.”

“What things?”

“What it’s like to be older.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s time I learned.”

“Are– are you going to leave me?”

“What?!? No! John, no! Of course not.” The question spurred the boy into action. He came up and pulled John into his arms—they were almost the same height now. “You’re my best friend. I’d never leave you. _Ever_.”

“So it’s just an experiment?” John’s words were muffled by Sherlock’s collar, but his friend seemed to understand them.

“Just an experiment.”

“And it’s just a year or two?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not doing it because you’re in love with Harry?”

Sherlock pulled back a little, a look of horror on his face. “What?”

His expression put to rest John’s fears pretty well. He laughed. “Well that was the reason Harry decided to grow up. I had to check.”

“Ugh. She’s my sister. Also, romantic love is silly. I’d rather have a best friend.”

John’s chest warmed and expanded in relief. “Me too.”

***

Life went back to normal after that. Sherlock grew a little taller, a little thinner, his face morphing into angles. He was a bit more serious than before, but he still loved fighting pirates, having swimming races with the mermaids, climbing the mountain, and doing his experiments. He and John still did everything together, and John had to admit that it was nice having his best friend be the same age as him. They understood each other a little better. Everyone else pretended to hate it, but mostly they didn’t mind.

“As if you two weren’t already thick as thieves,” groaned Greg when he figured it out, but he had a smile on his face.

“Maybe now he won’t get us into so much trouble,” piped up Molly, always one to look at the bright side.

John looked at Sherlock, and they both burst into laughter. Molly frowned for a moment, but then shook her head and joined in, as did everyone else. Sherlock was Sherlock, and no amount of growing up would change that mischievous, too curious part of him. And John wouldn’t have him any other way.

That is, until the day he did.

***

The problem with growing up was that sometimes you forgot to stop. Sherlock had meant to only add a year or two, but either puberty came early for him, or he got a little older than he’d meant to. The first time his voice cracked, everyone laughed it off. The second time, John grew a little concerned. When the spots came in, John panicked.

“You have to stop it! You’re not supposed to grow up,” he demanded one afternoon as they sat in Sherlock’s lab, Sherlock working on something yellow and goopy while John read through a new medical book. Sherlock’s voice had just cracked again.

“You want me to be stuck like this?” Sherlock pointed to his spotty face.

“Well. No. Have you tried … growing backwards?”

Sherlock gave him A Look. “Time might be more relative for residents of Neverland than of London, but it still moves in one direction.”

“But have you really tried?”

“John.”

“Fine. Just,” John rubbed the back of his neck. “You said you’d never leave me.”

“I won’t! I’m not. I’m just a little older than you now. We’re still closer now than before I started.”

“But you’re different now.”

And it was true. Sherlock was still himself fundamentally, but he reacted differently. He was even moodier than before (a tribulation to all the inhabitants of The Warren), he had less patience, and he’d recently started hiding away for hours at a time, not letting even John into his lab with him. Today was a rare, good day.

“I am not.”

“I’ve hardly seen you the last few weeks. You’re pushing me away.”

“Never.”

“You are.”

“It’ll just take some getting used to. I’ll be fine soon.”

“How much more?”

“What?”

“How much more are you going to grow up? You said you couldn’t stay like this.”

“Just a little more.”

“Promise?”

“John.” His voice was a warning.

“Promise?” John knew how to play Sherlock’s game.

Sherlock sighed. “Promise.”

***

It didn’t get any easier. Sherlock continued to hide himself away, shouting at people to “just shut up already” as he’d storm back into his lab, closing the door before John could follow.

John finally had to admit there was only one thing he could do. He swung in his hammock in the room he and Sherlock still nominally shared, alone yet again after Sherlock had locked himself away the evening before, as he thought over the events of the last few months, trying to decide what to do. It was quiet, the middle of the night. He hadn’t slept in two days.

“I don’t want to grow up,” he whispered to himself, turning to look at the empty hammock next to him. But more than he wanted to stay the same, he wanted his friend back. And he’d do whatever he had to to make that happen.

***

Sherlock, of course, noticed first. He was still doing his disappearing act frequently, but that didn’t stop him from being the most observant person in the land.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said lowly one night as they lay in their hammocks, Sherlock for once having deigned to go to bed.

“What?” John asked, pushing away sleep for a while longer. Apparently Sherlock decided it was time to be chatty.

“I know you don’t want to grow up. I don’t either. I didn’t mean to keep on this long. It just sort of … happened. I’m sorry.”

He could be flippant, and he knew how to act when necessary, but they’d been friends for years, and John knew sincerity from Sherlock when he heard it. “I know.”

“Do you hate me?”

“God no, Sherlock.”

John turned to the side so he could look at his friend, who was staring up at the ceiling, fingers clenched around the ropes of his hammock.

“I followed you to Neverland when I wasn’t even sure it existed. I can age a few years to keep up with you.”

“But it’s not what you wanted.”

Joh sighed. “Yeah. Well. Even in Neverland, we don’t always get what we want. Besides, I got a lot more time as a kid than most people get. Maybe Harry was right. Maybe you can’t really experience life without growing up a little.”

Sherlock’s hands relaxed, and he looked at John, a hopeful smile playing at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll just look at this as a new adventure. But. Try not to grow _all the way_ up. I’m not ready for that adventure yet.” He stuck his foot out, pushing at Sherlock until he toppled out of his hammock.

Sherlock returned the favor, and they tussled on the floor until the others yelled at them to keep it down.

***

Growing up a year or two wasn’t _completely_ terrible. They were still young enough to enjoy being kids. The harder part was puberty itself. He found out that he too could be just as ill-tempered as Sherlock, and it happened at the oddest moments. But he and Sherlock started spending more time together again, so he learned to live with it.

However, despite seeing it happen with his sister, he didn’t realize the full effects of aging until it was too late. It started innocently enough, with touching. The Lost Children were akin to a pack of wild dogs, so piling onto each other for fun or nuzzling together for comfort wasn’t uncommon. Some of that had gone away when Sherlock began to age, but it had slowly returned the last few months. What surprised John, though, was just how much he was coming to enjoy it, crave it. What had been thoughtless but expressive touches became momentous and fraught with possibility.

He hid his reactions as well as he could, still not quite understanding what was happening, but Sherlock must have picked up on it, because he started to hesitate in his own contact, or avoid it completely. And despite the confusion, that was worse. John wanted the touches, needed them to feel grounded and right. So he doubled down—when Sherlock hesitated, he pushed through, when contact didn’t come at all, he initiated. It was a contest of wills.

It came to a head the night John finally gave into one of his recent desires. The two were in their hammocks, talking about nothing until they fell asleep, when John reached to grab Sherlock’s hand. His friend faltered in his speech but kept going for a while. John laced their fingers together and gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. It felt nice, just being connected in so small and casual a way, even if Sherlock wasn’t quite relaxing into it like John wanted him to. After a minute or so, he interrupted himself.

“What are you doing, John?”

“Um. Holding your hand?”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to touch you.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. People like to touch other people sometimes. It’s a nice connection.”

“But we don’t hold hands.”

“I’m trying something new.” He gave Sherlock’s hand another squeeze. “I like it.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t?” His stomach dropped.

“I. Don’t know … It’s. Different. And.” He stopped.

“What?” John asked, a little worried to hear what he’d say.

“It’s– it’s what Harry and Lily do.”

The two girls had finally settled in their mid-teens, and they could often be seen huddled close, whispering to each with hands interlocked. They also did other things like kiss. John wasn’t sure what he thought of kissing yet.

“Well, they are best friends, same as you and me,” John deflected.

“John.”

John pulled his hand away, annoyed. “I just wanted to try it, alright? It– it feels nice when you touch me. I wanted to see what this was like.”

“We’re children,” Sherlock argued, his voice small and hesitant.

John went from annoyed to angry. “No we’re not! Thanks to you, we’re more than children now. We’re at this terrible, confusing, and strange age where nothing makes sense, except those odd times when it does, and nothing else matters but that thing. And right now, that thing is us touching. I feel lonely when I’m not close to you. I miss you when you’re in the next room. I want to feel your warmth against my side. I want to hold your hand.”

He chanced a glance at his friend. Sherlock was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, tense in his hammock. John couldn’t read his mood, except the fear. He wanted to stop, wanted to take it back, to apologize for his outburst. For his feelings. But a part of him was still angry, and he let that rule his actions.

“It’s all your fault. I was fine staying a kid. I didn’t mind missing out on more adult experiences. But I’m not a child anymore, and I don’t want to pretend to be one. I want things.”

“Kissing things?” came Sherlock’s small voice, though he still refused to look at John.

“I. I don’t know. No? Yes?” He sighed and scrubbed his face. “I just know I want to be around you always.”

“We already had that,” Sherlock said softly.

“And then we grew up. Now I want to be _with_ you.”

“With? You mean …”

“I don’t know what it means, Sherlock!”

“Touching.”

“Like we used to. Before you started pulling away.”

“That’s all?”

John sagged in relief. “Promise.”

“Alright.”

“Alright? Good.” He settled back into his hammock. Maybe now, things would get back to normal. He rocked his bed, the movement and the sound of Sherlock’s slowly evening-out breaths lulling him to sleep.

Just before John’s dreams took him, Sherlock whispered, “I think I like it when we hold hands, too.”

His hand, when he slipped it into John’s, felt warm and perfect.

***

Things did return mostly to normal after that. Though Sherlock could be a right cock at times, he stopped shutting John out of his lab and his personal space. They laughed and teased the pirates, played games with the other children, visited the other residents of Neverland. They were happy. And they were together. The other kids noticed the change. Or, John was sure, Greg noticed it and told the others. They gave the two their space when they were together, which was pretty much always these days, and didn’t even tease them too much.

John wanted to try extending an olive branch to Harry next. He still didn’t understand _wanting_ to grow up, but he could at least appreciate it now that he was there. When she smirked at him the first time she saw him and Sherlock holding hands, he knew they’d be okay.

He was thinking of how to approach her one night as he settled in for sleep. Perhaps they could go on a hunting trip together. He missed talking with her and wanted to know how things were really going in her life. If she was happy. They hadn’t talked in years.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Sherlock complained as he slowly swung the hammock they now shared.

“Why? You love thinking.”

“Not when I’m trying to sleep. If you don’t stop, I’ll go sleep in the other hammock.”

John snorted. Sherlock, they’d recently discovered, was actually rather a huge cuddler. The likelihood of him sleeping by himself was pretty much nil. “No you won’t.”

“I might.”

“Mmhmm,” John replied with no conviction. “Who was it who said not twenty minutes ago, ‘John, I can’t sleep without you. Hurry up and get in bed.’”

“I’ve changed my mind. You’re a rotten bedmate. I might have to go search out Greg. He doesn’t think too hard.”

“Ignoring the part where you called our friend an idiot, he won’t put up with your sulking and bony elbows.” John tickled Sherlock in the ribs, making him squirm. “I think you’re stuck with me.”

Sherlock batted John’s hands away and shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I’ll grow a few more years then. Moss is rather nice to look at. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind my bony elbows.”

John hesitated. He knew Sherlock was teasing about the chief’s son, but would that always be the case? Forever—or even sixty more years if they started aging naturally—was a very long time. Would they still like each other then?

As if reading his mind, which happened quite frequently, Sherlock put his arms around John’s waist and snuggled closer. “I’ll always want to be with you, John. You’re my best friend, the person I love most in all the worlds. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

John breathed out. It was what he believed for himself, and hearing Sherlock confirm it helped him push the negative thoughts away. They hadn’t progressed beyond sharing a hammock and forehead kisses—and John wasn’t sure if that was Sherlock being a bit behind him developmentally or if it was just Sherlock in general—but he didn’t mind. Sherlock’s words spoke to him. Maybe they’d decide to grow up a little more, maybe they wouldn’t. It was all fine.

As long as they did it together.

“Me too,” he replied with a kiss to Sherlock’s temple. “Anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> I keep telling myself I'll eventually write the story of how John and Sherlock brought Greg and Molly to Neverland. Someday ...
> 
> Come yell at me on Tumbler [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter at [@aerynmoon0](https://twitter.com/aerynmoon0)


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